A Child of the Pleasure
by FunkyLooker29
Summary: Violet, an untamable Commodore's daughter, wants nothing more than to be free. The clock is ticking, and her heart grows more and more restless as the hours pass. Her time is now. Jack/OC, Hot kissing, One-shot


Hunkered over by the waist, she eyes the fabric intently with pursed lips before bringing the blade up and dipping it into the cloth. The sharp edge splits the tiniest threads with ease, and she pulls the knife to her right, along her knees, twisting it around her body carefully. Her eyes are wide with mischief and they sparkle, dancing, as her legs – the color of crust encasing soft sourdough, become visible.

The bottom half of her ruined skirt sinks to the floor, and she grins as she steps out of the mass that had previously constrained her. It's the sediment of the action that makes her smile. Her hair – done up in a tight bun at the base of her neck, shimmers in the morning light. The streaks of raven black are stark like the moon's pretty face in the shadowed night sky. She reaches back behind her head, pulling the various pins from her hair and allowing the wild waves to wash down her shoulders like rain.

Giddy, she skips over to her desk, and, after placing the pins in a drawer, dips a feather into a quell of ink. She scribbles out a curt note to her father, or sister, or nurse - whomever happens to find it first. It wouldn't be the first time she snuck off, but she wasn't cruel, and didn't want them to worry too much. She turns and examines the room, squinting at nothing before kicking the remnants of her dress under her bed. She locks her door before skittering to the window, pushing open the clear panes and glancing sideways. She can see the street from here, and the noise of people bustling around lightens her mood a bit. Below her is the lush shrubbery of the garden.

She pulls her knee up and steps onto the stone sill protruding from under her window, her bare toes spreading as she leans forward to place her other foot on the rocky mount. She gingerly turns, knees tucked to her chest, and closes the window behind her. The breeze wisps past, the smell of the salty Caribbean sea fills her nostrils. Her hair fans around her face, along with her short, hand-crafted skirt. Her mind runs in anticipation. She turns back to her window and reaches up tentatively - though she has done this a hundred times before. Her hand grasps the identical sill above her window, and she starts to pull herself up.

"Miss! Miss! Don't jump!"

She turns carefully, letting her fingers loosen from their grip on the stone above her as she leans back to look below. There's a small runt of a man looking up at her, but perhaps it's just her distance from him that makes him seem so ant-like. She sighs, breath whooshing past her lips as she replies, "No, sir! You're mistaken! I'm quite alright!"

"I'm going to go get help, ma'am! Don't move!" He ignores her and she glares down at the man. He cannot see her, though - she is a good nine stories up.

"No - sir, I beg of you, I am just enjoying the view!" She insists loudly, hoping the pushiness in her tone will carry down to him.

"You are as mad as a hatter, girl!" He proclaims upon hearing her response. She snorts quietly as he continues, "If you fall from a height like that, you'll surely crack your neck in two!"

"I am well aware of that, sir!" She says pointedly, "And of the height thing, too!"

He stares at her, his neck pushed back - hand covering his eyes to block the sun. His little bitty mouth is open in the shape of the letter 'o'.

"Do carry on, then, sir! Thanks for the chat!" She hollers gleefully, hoping he will leave it be. She turns back to the window and tightens her hold on the rock above her before pulling herself on top of it, rolling on her side to fit. When she turns to look back down, he's gone from the yard, but she knows he is probably running for help. Most likely, he has headed inside to alert a servant - or worse, her father.

She stands on her new platform, and brushes away the little bits of crushed rock that have sunken into the skin on her knees. Looking behind her, she steps back until her right heel is at the corner of the sill. She bends her knees and leans forward before taking as many long strides as the small block will allow in a quick sprint - leaping off of the ledge with force. Her arms extend and her hair pushes back from her shoulders - gliding with the wind as she soars like a sparrow. She almost closes her eyes at the rush of feeling.

Her arms dart forward as she grabs onto the rope that is strung from her house to an abandoned building across the way. The rope is sometimes used for flags, but is almost always vacant. The building it is tied to is stout and is much closer to the ground than her own house. It's been hanging here ever since she was a girl. Her fingers grip the coarse strand, curling around the thick cord. Her legs dangle and she adjusts herself. She lets one of her hands drop and spins herself slowly to the side before swinging her body - gaining enough momentum to latch her legs around the line.

She shimmies across as quickly as she can, though she's not really worried. She's worried in the sense that perhaps her father could come out, reprimand her and tell her she's never to leave the house again, but not in the actual _physical _sense. He couldn't catch here up here on the rope, he couldn't pull her down when she was so high up. She'd be punished later, that was for certain - but for now, if he did come out, he wouldn't be able to cage her.

He had tried and failed for the past eighteen years to do so.

She lets her legs drop as she nears the building attached to the end of the rope and swings off. She lands with a graceful pounce that could only be acquired by trial and error. When she had first snuck out this way - using the rope, her hands had bled for days. But over time, they grew rough with what she learned was called a callus. Her father was absolutely horrified when he found out and scolded her about playing outside, not knowing she'd been dangling from a rope forty feet above the ground. He then said something about ladies and how their hands should be soft and smooth to the touch - just how a man wanted them to be.

Glancing backwards, she sees the sheer fabric framing her window fluttering with movement and knows the man who saw her has contacted her father. She could picture it in her head, him walking with his teeny little head and stubby little legs, into her father's study - guided by a servant. The small man explains with wild gestures that there was a mad girl out on her window sill. Her dress was cut raggedly around her knees and her black as night hair was a mess in the wind.

She sighs to herself, she pities the poor man a bit. Just a bit. After all, he is unfortunately small. And she probably _had_ looked mad. Oh, and not to forget the face that he would be the one there when her father realized - _again - _that his daughter was of an uncultivated breed. _You might as well be the wind,_ he used to scoff at her as a child, _for I cannot bind you to anything. _It was only when she was older - when he expected real things from her, that his words became bitter and not playful.

She sees the outline of her father, hunched over her writing desk. She smiles a smile of sadness before turning to leap off of the building. In her wake, the wind blows sea air and crunchy pebbles across the rooftop.

* * *

><p>The sand squishes in between her toes, the grains sticking to her creamy skin. There's music playing in the distance, a string quartet playing a beautiful tune at a wedding reception. The wind has picked up since she's neared the shore, and it brings tide after tide of soul awakening salt into her nostrils. She grins as her fingers fiddle with the torn edges of her dress, watching as her feet sink in and out of the sand. The impressions her toes make only last so long before the tide rises again and sweeps the remnants of her presence away.<p>

She's humming along to the music, the ups and downs of swells sedating her restless heart.

No one knows her in this part of town, so no one looks for her here. She comes quite often, actually. More than her father realizes, though he only realizes when he is told she is missing - otherwise he doesn't notice, or just pretends it doesn't happen. Either way is fine with her. He knows as well as she that her place isn't in that house. Though, his acceptance over that fact was another story entirely.

She'd brought him here once - as a small girl.

She was a strange child, always talking and muttering to herself. Her father was of a high rank, and his odd child never failed to attract unwanted attention. So, he tried to keep her placid. She had a knack for trapping people under her chubby little thumb, or squirming her way onto anyone's blacklist. She was seven, if she remembered correctly - when she first came to an actual beach. She had forced her father to stop the carriage. She had ran out of the thing, her eyes fixated on the clear aqua waters rising and falling on the sandy shore. Sure - she'd seen the waters from her window before, from her cage - but this was a whole new feeling entirely. It was thrilling - the salt burnning its way up her nose, making her eyes prickle with tears.

"Violet, Violet, dear, what has come over you, my child?" He had rushed to her side, glancing around as to make sure no one had seen her misbehave.

Her eyes wondered up to the horizon. It seemed as though the water ended where the sky started. It was a sight to behold - the sun, glorious and orange like a tangy candy, glowing like nothing she'd ever seen against the dark waters. "Daddy? Do you think there's a place where the sun and the ocean meet?"

He looked down at his daughter in surprise, not that she was looking at him. She was still transfixed. "Of course not. I've never heard of such an obscene question."

She had submitted in walking back to the carriage after that - thoroughly disappointed, but hope had still glimmered in her innocent eyes of jade.

The music swells in the present. She closes her eyes and moves her lips languidly to the rhythm. Raising her hands above her head, she twists her fingers together and dances with herself.

No one pays her attention, even if the beach is near deserted. It's why she comes all this way - nobody bothers her with idle chatter or schedules or corsets. They probably think her mad too - but she can never find it in her to care. She never has been careful with that sort of thing, and it's why her existence causes her father so much stress. Everything is for show, for custom, for normality - and she's never really given much thought to any of that. It all seemed irrelevant to her. Mundane and listless.

The little Violet truly believed in - and little it was, was not mundane and listless. The music quiets, and a smile creeps onto her face as she slides her eyes back open. The sun it setting, now. The orange and pink hues throw cast onto the rippling waves - onto the expressive sky. She hears clapping and hooting, and her eyes flicker briefly to a group of men settled on a balcony of some bar up shore. They're looking at her, their faces expressing amusement and appreciation. Her eyes crinkle at the sides as her smile broadens. She takes a step forward and bows, grabbing the shortened hem of her dress and curtsying.

She smiles as she turns to run back down shore, her feet kicking up sand and splashing water onto the backs of her bare, tan legs. She loves it here. She loves it so much.

* * *

><p>The muscles in her back ripple as she pulls the dress over her head. Her hair settles down her back and chest, long and dark like a raven's wing. She drops the dress to the rocks, dipping the tip of her right foot into the water. She hesitates before taking a few steps back and diving into the tide - her body arching like a swan's neck. She resurfaces among the bubbles, her body shuddering at the warmth dancing through her veins.<p>

Laughing loudly, she ducks back into the water, opening her sea glass eyes as she swims further down. She turns to look back up, seeing the cave curving above her like a dome, before darting back forward, kicking her feet and parting the water in front of her with her hands. The water is clear and swirling, making her hair sway and tangle atop of her head. She forces herself down, swimming alongside the rock that arches down under the cave, her fingers exploring.

She had found this place when she was fifteen. She had gotten curious, waded out into the surf and had been taken by a rip tide.

Having been sucked from shore so quickly disoriented her and she couldn't tell where she was. She knew no one would come looking for her, for no one knew where she was. She'd swam and swam until she found somewhere to rest. It was a marvelous discovery, and she found it astounding that the seas could carve such a thing into rock. The pools that lay within were warm and calm, the rock surrounding it rough and sharp. Her voice echoed like a drum roll when she spoke inside of it.

She liked to come here, but only did on occasion. Her lungs start to feel compressed and her last moments before surfacing as hasty. She paddles herself to a large, smooth stone set into the water. The surface is soft and slick from years of waves crashing over it.

She tucks her knees under her chin and wraps her arms around them as she settles atop of it. Her long hair is stuck down her back, drips of water rolling down her spine. Her skin radiates warmth. Eye lids fluttering shut, she hums herself into a daze. She wants to stay here forever. Her father will move on, will he not? She's just a nuisance to him - to all of them. And he had Lilly - her superficial older sister. Yes, he had Lilly. Lilly - who liked to sing in the church choir and rock her children to sleep. Lily was what her father wanted Violet to be.

It was not proper for ladies to laugh so loudly, or to mutter to themselves, or to speak what they were thinking. It was also not proper to wear a dress in public without a corset or stockings. None of the rules or regulations put forth by the modern society seemed to constrain odd-little Violet, though. She viewed them as silly and pointless - much preferring to do as she pleased rather than what was expected of her.

She stands on the rock and dives back into the water. She's off of the coast, now - swimming out into the open waters. She swims on the surface, mostly - because she enjoys the feeling of the water lapping at the sides of her face as she floats. Every once in a while she'll kick her feet in such a way that makes her gravitate back towards the top. Her little swimming adventures had made sailors steer clear of the cove long ago - for when she was sixteen someone spotted her and assumed she was a siren lusting for his flesh. Rumors spread like a wild-fire and suddenly, everyone seemed content to sail an extra few miles to go around the passage rather than through it.

The water puddles on her belly and pools in her ears - shutting out any noise and filling her ear drums with the hollow echoing of the waves. It has been quite for only a few hours when it seems as though a shadow has been cast over her, like the moon has been swallowed up. She opens her eyes and hears - or rather, feels - the ripple effect caused by someone disturbing the water. There's a ship looming near, her shadow creeping over Violet. She pushes her body under the water, sinking down and hoping her dark hair will conceal her head from view.

Her eyes widen as she sees what has caused the ripple - a rope, thrown overboard. Intended for use, for her to grab onto, no doubt. Her eyes dart to the deck of the ship, her neck straining. The boat is so close - so tall. She swallows when she sees men peering over the ledge, their silhouettes glowing. They're urging her to take the line they've cast for her. Quickly, she ducks under the surf, turning and swimming back in the direction of the cave. There's no light to guide her, she only knows the patterns of the stars above her.

She hears a splash behind her, and turns her head jerkily to the side - eyes blazing. In a haze of white bubbles, lit by the angled moonlight, she sees a man with dark brown braids. His eyes widen as he sees her, naked, a few dozen feet from him. She hisses to herself, turning back and swimming in swift kicks. She hears him following her, and wonders briefly why. She looks back every few minutes, and catches his devilish smirk on more than one occasion. She finds herself hiding her own as she pushes herself under the rock leading to her cave, her heart jerking around in her chest.

When she surfaces, gasping, she climbs onto the cave floor quickly and makes a swipe for her dress before leaping across some of the smaller puddles on the way out and hiding herself in a corner. She hears him surface, flapping his arms around and splashing water everywhere. She places a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles as she peeks to see him on the rock, his clothes and face drenched in water. The coal that was smeared around his eyes runs down his face. The moon is right above them - shining through a gaping hole in the rock.

He looks down at the rocky surface of the floor, his eyes probing a trail of water leading to her hiding place. With quick hands, she slides her dress back on her wet body and darts from her crevice - heading for the tunnel that leads back to land. Her girlish giggles echo in the cave and his eyes snap up before he chases her, grinning at the shadow of the elusive girl. "C'mere, luvi-"

His taunting voice is cut off as his foot gets stuck between two rocks that were concealed in one of the shallow pools. His breath hitches in pain before a strain of vulgar curses escape his lips. Violet peeks out from the pathway, her eyes inquiring as she views the trapped sailor. Debating with herself only momentarily, she steps her dainty little foot out from behind the corner. She pivots slowly and steps out.

"Are you in a bit of a fix, there, sir?" Her voice surprises him, and he looks up from his foot. His hands - previously pulling at his knee, stall. She's the cutest little thing, with bright eyes and a cut-off dress surely not deemed acceptable by the 'modern' society.

"It seems so."

They stare at each other for a moment.

"Would you like some help?"

"It wouldn't hurt, I s'pose."

She steps forward, bouncing on her heels sweetly before leaning down, sticking her hands in the water. Her nimble fingers trace the edges of the rocks, traveling to his boots soon after. He watches her carefully. "You're going to have to take off your boot." She states, looking up at him and blinking.

"Well, darling," He starts pompously, "If I was able to take off me' boot, I'd already have caught ya'."

"Caught me?" She questions, her head turning to the side in curiosity.

"Why, yes. I'd have won your pitiful little behind, already, darling."

She hums, looking back down, and wraps her hand around the back of his ankle. He watches her with a raised eyebrow as she places her other hand at the toe of his boot. Without any warning, she pulls his leg forward by the ankle and shoves his foot up with the palm of her hand. The rocks encasing his foot slice through the leather bound to the soles of his shoes. He hunches over at the sudden pain, cursing her. She tears the rest of the bottom of his shoe from his ruined boot, throwing it to the side and sliding his now free foot out from between the rocks.

Blood taints the clear pool, clouding from the cuts at the sides of his foot. She stands primly, shaking off her hands. "Perhaps you should think twice before chasing the wistful things." She says curtly, her eyes sharp, "The free things are free for a reason."

* * *

><p>"Violet." Her father greets her coldly as she lands lithe-like back onto her bedroom floor. He's in her rocking chair at the corner of the room, his weathered face pinched with a forced calmness. "Where have you been?"<p>

She steps out from the shadows, and his eyes dart down to her bare legs and slowly travel up to her tattered skirt. His eyes are wide as he meets her face again, horror-struck.

"What have you _done?"_ He stands from the chair, nearing her. Her face is eerily calm, and she blinks at him, as if just realizing he was talking to her. "Did you hear me, girl?" He hisses, kneeling down to look at the torn hem, "What have you done?" He looks up at her from his knees, his eyes sharp and angry.

She lifts her delicate shoulders and shrugs, detached. "It ripped."

His eyes narrow and he pushes himself up quickly, his hand wrapping around her shoulder. His fingers press with force, and blood rushes between them under her skin. "_It ripped?_" He repeats, his voice rising an octave. It's like he's forgotten his daughter has been missing all day. All of his focus is on her dress. "That dress was a gift from Mister Adams, Violet! He expected you to wear it on your date today before you ran off!"

Her eyes, void of any emotion, glance down at the frayed fabric. She cocks her head to the left. "It ripped." She repeats, as if this explains things. "So, I suppose he'll just have to send me another gown."

"It ripped straight across? All the way around?" He asks with accusing eyes. She nods. There isn't a hint of hesitation in her eyes. "You're a filthy liar, Violet!"

"I beg your pardon, father." She straightens herself, "But such language is frowned upon in civil society. If you ever wish to hook a fine suitor you mustn't use such a tone." She pulls a line from the back of her mind, something he has told her before when she used a tone that leaned to the condescending side - a tone that challenged rather than admired.

"I will not tolerate you mocking me in my home, Violet!" Her father bellows in his deep voice, his narrow cheeks blushing bright red. "Now, you will tell Mister Adams it ripped tomorrow. I've rescheduled your date for morning tea, since _someone had a little case of the sniffles today._" He pushes his words onto her, his hand dropping from her shoulder.

"Okay." She replies, her voice a monotone. He nods curtly before turning to leave, "Oh, and Violet?" He sneers, "Don't even think of leaving again. I've posted guards outside of your window. Sleep tight, _darling._"

She blinks. He leaves. She rolls her shoulder, wincing. She unties her dress, and lets it pool around her feet. She tucks her dirty feet into the covers of her bed and lays her head down on a pillow too large for her neck with ruffles that itch her skin. Her eyes close and she dreads the day she'll awake to tomorrow. Her dreams are shadowy and lurking that night - filled with promises of a husband and small children all by the age of twenty-two.

* * *

><p>The day is hot and stuffy just like the man sitting across from her. The corset she was forced into restricts her breathing as well as the ability to bend her spine. All she can think of if how much cooler she would be if she were in the water instead of having morning tea with her suitor. At the end of the table, he laughs at something and she fakes a laugh right along with him, her mouth forming a tight-lipped smile.<p>

"So, Miss Violet," He peers at her, setting down his cup of tea on a saucer rimmed in gold paint, "What interests you?"

She racks her mind for an answer. She can either answer snidely, with the intention of scaring the man off. In this case, she wouldn't be married off so soon. But it would only be postponing the inevitable. She _would _be married off, sooner or later. She was a retired commodore's daughter. A women with wealth, looks and a powerful family all but guaranteed her betrothal to a 'well-bread' male. Her reputation for being difficult would only serve as an excuse for so long.

Sighing, she speaks with a quiet voice, "I like to swim."

He tilts his pointed nose into the air, his eyes gazing at her with hesitance. "Swim?"

"Yes," She fidgets, twirling her thumbs together under the table. "I enjoy the water. Don't you?" She attempts conversation, glancing up at him.

"Well, I like to sail, if that's what you mean. I don't really think it proper for a lady to _swim _in the ocean." His tone grows cold. "The sea is no place for carelessness or recreation. It is a dangerous place." Her eyes narrow at him even though he's not looking. She grinds her teeth together as she musters a reply, making a point to ignore his rude words.

"Oh, yes. I love to sail as well. My father used to take me on board as a child." She swallows thickly, "Perhaps you could take me aboard your ship sometime."

He wrinkles his nose at this. "A ship is not really a suitable environment for a woman."

She forces a laugh, "Don't tell me you're superstitious about those silly things."

He picks up the tea cup again, sipping a few drops between his lips before answering, "I just don't think a lady should be exposed to the rough life of the sea."

Her shoulders slump a bit against the chair she's sitting in, her eyes darting back down to her twiddling thumbs. "I see."

The silence is prolonged and awkward, though a quick stolen glance upward reveals his ignorance. He doesn't believe he's done anything wrong by belittling her. Her jaw sets itself without her consent and her eyes harden, annoyed. Her foot taps at the floor with impatience. "You know," He begins again, "your tea is growing cold."

She glances down at the offending cup. She's always disliked tea. The taste is bitter and leaves an aftertaste. She straightens herself in her chair, leaning forward and grabbing the cup, not bothering to use the handle. She holds it off to the side, setting her elbow on the table as she leans over to talk to him. His eyes are wide with horror, her atrocious table manners surely offending him.

"Do you think there's a place where the sky and the ocean meet?"

He blinks, his stunned features contorting. He stares at her with mouth agate before breaking eye contact. "Um, I think we're done with tea. Miss Auburn, please call the carriage driver up front."

She snorts, flopping back against the chair and placing the tea carelessly back on the saucer, the clank resounding like a shot. Her father will not be pleased with her when she returns home without an engagement ring on her finger, but she can put him off for a few days. Mr. Adams will surely be too embarrassed by the whole encounter to speak of it to anyone, let alone her father.

* * *

><p>It's later that day when she spots the guards that her father promised he'd employed to watch her, standing guard on the ground below her window. She panics, hiding herself behind a tree in the garden. There's no way she'll be able to make it back to her room without being caught by a servant. It's late, and most of them are dozing, but she believes Amy, a spiteful old women, has the night shift this week. The possibility she'll be able to string along her father for another day is even less.<p>

So, she thinks quickly and rashly. She pulls down the front of her dress, exposing her cleavage before letting her hair loose. She sighs, rolling her eyes to the heavens and saying a little prayer before stepping out from behind the shrubbery. There are two of them, positioned right below her window. If she were to have attempted escape through her window, she surely would have been captured. Her eyes dart around to check for anything amiss.

"Bastard..." She whispers when she sees a rope hanging limply at the side of the northern wall. She would not have seen that until it was too late, mid-flight, no doubt. She wonders briefly if her father had thought of that before dismissing the line of thought, deeming it immaterial. She hitches her skirt a little higher. It's harder to get much higher than her knees, as she's wearing the cut-off dress she'd made the day before.

"Hello, boys." Her voice comes from her lips in a seductive hiss. The two men, dressed in navy uniforms, jump at the sudden noise. They were near sleep. Pudgy and Lanky look over to her with wide eyes. They look her up and down before blushing. She can see it, even in the dim moonlight. "What are two fine gentlemen doing out on a night like this, alone?"

They elbow each other with eyes as wide as saucers as she nears. She stops a foot from them, giving them an ample view of her chest. She trails her finger down Pudgy's chin, watching as he flinches at the warmth. "Eh - er, we're watching Miss Violet for the night." He stutters out.

"Violet?" She repeats, retracting her hand to tap at her chin, "You mean that little scallywag who runs around town all the time?"

"Y-yes, that be the one." Lanky replies, eager for her attention. She looks over at him, her eyes brightening before dimming.

"Well, then." She pouts her lovely lips, "I was really looking forward to spending some time with you two. Quality time." She purrs, "But if you're busy..." She hesitates.

"Uh, well - we can take a break." Pudgy supplies readily, looking at Lanky for back up. "Can't we, Murtogg?"

"Oh, yes, yes." Insists Murtogg, "Can't we, Mullroy?"

Mullroy looks at Murtogg with a grimace. "I just _said _we could."

Murtogg, hopelessly lost, nods and speaks, "Oh, yes, sorry then." He turns to Violet, "Yes, we can."

"Come with me, then." She whispers, wiggling her finger to follow her as she walks - swaying her hips.

* * *

><p>She awakes, dazed and confused. She brushes sand off of her face mindlessly, eyes intent on the already risen sun. Standing, she twists her hips from side to side, watching as the sand sprays in skirts around her. She blinks her eyes as she sees a ship on the ever vast water. It's large, with black sails. It has weighed anchor too far from the dock to be anything official.<p>

She turns and runs up the shore, looking over her shoulder every few seconds. She's not breathless as she arrives at the tavern, because she runs along that beach far too much to be out of shape. Not really knowing where to go, she pulls out a bar stool and takes a seat. There's a barmaid behind the counter with voluptuous breasts who asks what she wants to drink.

Violet, in her short, sheltered, lifetime, had only tasted a few select drinks, as she had stolen bottles from her father's liquor cabinet on several occasions. So, she ordered the first thing that came to mind; rum. The barmaid nodded and leaned down, grabbing a bottle below the counter and sliding it to Violet. Violet nodded her thanks, taking the small bottle in her hands and uncorking it with practiced ease. It burnt a fiery trail down her throat.

"So, missus, do I know ye'? Where ye' hail from, eh?" The barmaid asks. Violet looks up from her bottle.

"I'm from up-town." She replies, her eyes intent. The barmaid's hand - swiping large circles with a rag, wavers as she eyes the girl. "But I like the beach here."

"Aye." The barmaid murmurs. She takes a good look at the young girl before snapping her fingers and smiling, "You be the girl all the men been talkin' bout, aint ye?"

Violet looks up from her rum, eyes shining with surprise. "Huh?"

"The girl on the beach, who dances, am I right?" The barmaid persists with amused eyes.

Violet chuckles, "Oh, yeah. I guess that'd be me."

The barmaid laughs with her. "You had them men all up in a tizzy."

Violet smiles to herself, taking a long pull of the burning liquid in the bottle. She's starting to feel lighter, and rejoices in the fact that her troubles seem to have momentarily vanished. "My name's Violet."

The barmaid stops what she's doing, "Mine be Pippa."

"Nice to meet you, Pippa." Violet greets formally, nodding her head in a small salute, "It's been a pleasure talking to you." Violet stands, reaching her hand into the top of her dress and pulling out a shilling. Pippa shakes her head when Violet tries to give her the coin.

"You bring in 'nuff business as is, darling. No need for that." Pippa grins as Violet's head falls back in laughter, "Will you be out there tonight? Or betta' yet, in here?"

Violet sobers herself, "Ah," She sighs, "I'm not so sure I'll be staying here for long, my dear Pippa."

Violet thinks of the two gagged men on her father's estate, probably being discovered as she speaks.

Pippa's brow furrows in confusion, "Why's that, luv?"

Violet sucks the last of the rum from the bottle in her hand and places it on the counter, "Do tell, dear lovely, when a sparrow escapes her cage does she hover in the room where she was kept?"

Pippa's nose wrinkles, "Well, I s'pose not."

"Exactly, my love." Violet bows, grinning before she turns to leave the tavern - a confused barmaid staring after her, shaking her head. She steps back onto the beach, jogging down the shore. She's contemplating on which ships look the most vulnerable when she runs into a chest. Rough hands steady her before she falls.

"Well, hello there, dearie."

"Perhaps you should watch where you walk, mister." She speaks in a slightly reprimanding tone before removing his hands from her arms and sidestepping him. Her feet dig a little deeper into the sand with each step.

"Whoa, whoa, now." He skips up beside her, touching her arm. "If anyone is to blame for this lil' misstep - it is you, my darling. For you were the one - dare I say, drunkenly swaggering down the beach without a care in your little jolly world." He's talking with his hands, waving them around as he speaks in a strange accent.

She tilts her chin up, "Is that so?"

"Yes, it does so happen to be so." He uses her proper accent, smiling sloppily. "You seem to be in much better spirits than you were the last time I spoke with you."

She smiles, now. "Rum will do that to a person, I suppose." She sidesteps him again, swaying towards the water. "Numbs the conscious."

He clicks his tongue, catching back up to her and staring at her with slightly accusing eyes, "But were you ever really sorry to start with?" He inquires, "Because if you weren't, then the rum would not be there for you to use as a crutch. If you weren't sorry and you drank the rum only for the purpose of savoring the flavor for your own recreational reasons, then the comment about your heavy conscious would be irrelevant - savvy? And in that case, you would just have to admit you were a heartless wench."

She shakes her head at the insult, chuckling, "Am I sensing some hostility, here? Please - do tell me what causes such an ugly emotion to cloud your already diluted thoughts."

He narrows his eyes at her, forcing a smirk, "S'pose I just hold grudges, that's all." He fake laughs with her, "Seeing as you trapped me in a cave and then just about off me foot."

She stops her amused laughter, shrugging, "Well, when you say it like that I can see where you'd perceive me as a heartless tart."

He raises his finger, "I said wench, luv." He corrects, "Wouldn't want ye thinking I called you a tart."

She hums to herself and bites her lip, "No, that would just be dreadful, wouldn't it...?"

"Sparrow." He supplies arrogantly, "Captain Jack Sparrow."

She clicks her tongue, "Ah, the captain who so bravely dove overboard to save a fellow mate. What a courageous sailor he was." She sighs in mock admiration, placing a hand to her chest and gazing off into space. She rolls her eyes and lets her hand return to her side, eyeing him with dark orbs, "Or perhaps a courageous _pirate._" She emphasizes the word, winking at him playfully and laughing at her own antics.

"How did you know that?" He asks, an edge to his voice.

She shakes her head in disapproval, "You really do take me for a fool, don't you, Jack?" She sighs, "I saw The Black Pearl sailing our way a few days ago, then I see you dive off said ship in a feeble attempt at 'rescue'. If you are crew on The Black Pearl - notorious for plundering, pillaging and the various other shenanigans you pirates get into, you are therefor, by default, a pirate. And you introduce yourself with the title captain, which means you're _captain _of The Black Pearl - which as we've already established, is a pirate's vessel." She informs, poking at his cheek as if he were a child asking a silly question. "Oh, and you have a pirate brand on your forearm."

He looks down at his exposed forearm, his face contorting in confusion. "Perhaps you should buy shirts with longer sleeves. Or, if you're feeling brave and wish to keep the shirt, just try to stay out of the wind, lad. At least give yourself a fighting chance, eh?"

She turns to the side, walking along the shore as the tide washes past her ankles. She hears him muttering before splashing up behind her. "You think you're so smart, don't you?"

"I think my intelligence is far superior to yours, if that's what you're getting to." She states, glancing backwards at him. He's hopping along behind her, switching the legs he balences on and rolling up his pant legs. "But if we were to compare it to a wide range of people, the statistics would vary greatly."

He finally catches up, stepping in front of her again to talk. "No, actually - it was a rhetorical question, but thank you for expressing your humble thoughts."

"It truly was a pleasure." She replies, smiling at him. "Just think of it this way - if your intellectual capabilities were as prominent as your arrogance, you might just be able to figure out how to get your head out of your arse." Her smile is charming.

He narrows his eyes at her, "Duly noted, luv."

She continues to walk along the shore, stopping every now and again to fiddle with a shell before throwing it back into the surf.

"And, speaking of tushies," He hollers, and she turns around to look at him. "You have quite the delectable one, my dear."

She arches a brow, "Oh, really?"

He saunters over to her, "Oh, yes." He purrs into her ear, "Me crew thought so, too." He adds, tapping his chin as if remembering something, "They thought you were a siren at first, but I reassured them you were just as human as they themselves were. They didn't believe me til' they saw your little behind peek above the waves as you swam away."

"And?" She pushes, "What would you say they'd rate it? On a scale of one to ten, of course."

He hums in thought, "Well, one behind flat as a board and ten being ripe cantaloupes, I'd go with a solid eight."

Her eyes widen, offended, "An eight? Just an eight?"

"Sorry, luv," He slings an arm over her shoulders, "But they're a hard group to please. And to be fair, only moments before they thought ye to be a blood-sucking creature of hell."

She pouts her red lips, "I'm just a little deflated, that's all."

"Aw, don't be like that, darling." He coos, "If I were to rate it - you'd be a ten."

She looks up at him, her eyes filled with mock astonishment and twinkle with false flattery, "Really?" Her lips purse, "You mean that?"

"Sure do." He replies, "Beautiful bottom, you've got there. Not nearly as pasty as I suspected it to be." He contemplates this, "I imagine you like to swim in the nude a lot, then?"

She fingers the hand thrown over her shoulder in thought, "Yes, actually. I'd started a rumor that the pass was haunted by mermaids and for the most part, no one came through it anymore." She clicks her tongue, "I didn't really expect many guests. But I'm glad you enjoyed the view."

"Ah, smart girl." He compliments, trying to distract himself from the warm fingers playing with his hand, "I don't believe I ever got your name."

She stops fiddling with his fingers long enough to look up at him, "It's Violet."

* * *

><p>The sun has just dipped under the horizon when the music starts. It's the time of year for beach side weddings, with the slight breeze and hue-filled sunsets. They're seated cross-legged on the beach, side-by-side, bottle of rum between them. Her head, long ago deemed too heavy for her neck, is resting on his shoulder, her lazy eyes watching the waves roll in. His eyes, equally hazy with alcohol, watch as sand runs through her ginger fingers, over and over as she picks up pinches and releases them mindlessly.<p>

"Do you enjoy being a pirate?" She asks, her voice saturated in a coolness that is only enhanced when she's drunk. He tries to look at her but her skull blocks most of her face from view, so he focuses on the slope of her nose and rests his chin on the crown of her head. He licks his dry lips before speaking.

"I do." He mutters back, picking up her hand in his, "It guarantees a freedom that I have yet to find elsewhere."

Shifting her weight to her left, she pulls her head from between his head and shoulder and puts her hands behind her, bracing her body. Her eyes seem lost in the water, in their tantalizing depths.

"And what about you, darling?" He questions, staring at the side of her face. "Do you enjoy it here?"

With a quiet thump, she bends her elbows and lets her back fall against the sand as she extends her legs. It has begun to cool and she savours the sweet gusts of wind. "I'm not from here, regretfully." She answers, arching her back to stretch and placing her hands behind her head. "Just a runaway, I s'pose."

He stares at her eyes - the remaining light in the sky is reflected in them, making her seem far more then what she is. "Was I correct to assume you were daddy's little girl, then?"

She thinks before answering, her eyes flickering between fluffs of elongated clouds, "No. I've never been daddy's little girl and I don't imagine I ever will be." She turns on her side to look at him, "That's the problem with trying to bind the wind, I suppose. You can chase it all you want, but she will never slow for you just because you wish it so."

He breaks focus momentarily, reaching his hand out to grab the nearly empty bottle by his knee. He takes a long pull into his mouth and gulps, the ashy feeling it leaves comforting him. He turns back to her, offering her what remains. She swallows the last of it without breaking eye contact, leaning up on her elbow to drink. She stares at his outstretched palm momentarily before handing him back the empty bottle. He shakes his head, setting the bottle down and standing. His hand is still outstretched, so she places hers into it hesitantly, letting him pull her up to his chest.

No words are spoken as he gently wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her body to his, or as he pulls their clasped hands close. She places her free hand on his shoulder, stepping closer as he begins to sway them to the haunting melody playing in the distance. She can feel his hot breath, passing by her neck and cheek, as he breathes steadily. She lifts her head from his chest, stretching her hand up to cup the back of his neck and pull his head down to hers. Warm skin meets his forehead as they continue to dance, her fingers tracing circles on his neck like his thumb does on the front of her hip.

She brushes her nose against his, closing her eyes and humming along. She can still feel his warm breath fanning over her face, and knows the softness of his parted lips is hovering close to hers. Her eyelids feel heavy and she can feel the pull of sleep in the back of her mind. He sees her eyes flutter and he feels it too. He unwinds his arm from her waist, guiding her down into the sand slowly before joining her, by her side. Before he lets himself drown, his fingers fumble in the sand until he finds her hand. He laces her fingers into his and feels her grip tighten before she dozes - her body relaxing. He falls unconscious soon after.

* * *

><p>The noise that wakes her is of rambunctious bustling - horses hooves, chattering voices, and wooden cart wheels groaning. Her groggy eyes adjust before she sits up, glancing around at the scene happening in the street. Everyone is scattering, pushing past each other and looking over their shoulders. She catches bits and pieces of conversations - <em>they're here!<em>, _I don't know, they're looking for someone!_, and _Well, get everything ready and proper - if one of 'em catches wif' of something fishy, we're in for!_

Her eyes widen, what's going on? She scatters to her feet, awaking her sleeping companion. He mumbles something, but she's busy scanning the streets for this mysterious intrusion. She spots a carriage surrounded by horses mounted by officers. It's large and lavish - standing out like a sore thumb in the ruins of this common town. She ducks down, realizing it's her father, and they're here for _her._

"Darling - what's with all the nois-" She shushes him, placing a hand over his mouth and flattening herself against the sand in hopes that she'll conceal herself.

She glances around frantically, eyes searching for an escape route. "I have to go." She whispers, hushed and panicked. She rises in a crouch and tries to run down shore - past the cliffs. His hand catches her ankle and he rises his torso to look around, finally turning to look at her.

"What's going on?" He asks, his voice holding a slight edge of panic and confusion. "Where are you going?"

"They're here for me - I have to go!" She hisses, pulling at her ankle. "Let go!"

"You're not going anywhere until you explain what's happening." He pulls her back to him and covers her body with his, hoping to hide her long enough for her to explain. Her eyes are frantic and glassy, darting around like a frightened bird's. "Luv - _Violet, _it's okay, just tell me what's going on." He tries to soothe.

"My father, he's here and he's looking for me, Jack! I can't go back, I can't. Please, let me go!" She squirms under his weight, desperate eyes gazing up at him.

"Hey, it's going to be fine." He assures, "We'll get you out of here and hide you, okay?"

"No, no!" She insists, "He'll find me, Jack. He will! He'll force me to marry, oh no, oh, my god. He probably already has the date set. Oh, no, no no..."

"Darling, _shush._" He places a finger to her lips, "Now, who's your father?"

"Commodore Campbell." She replies breathlessly. His eyes widen. He's one of the most known Commodores in Port Royal, having made a name for himself at a young age and retiring after his wife died to take care of his kids. In his shock, she manages to squeeze from under him, running across the beach and looking over her shoulder at the streets, where guards were shuffling through shops and harassing people for information.

He darts after her, grabbing her wrist and pushing her into a crevice of the rocks, "Violet, he'll find you." He whispers in a rushed voice, "I know the man, and he'll never stop."

Her eyes are wide and tears brim at the corners. He's never seen them like this and it scares him. "What am I going to do?"

His eyes widen as a single tear slips down her sandy cheek. The shiny orbs set into her head are filled with pain. "Come with me." He whispers without thought. She looks at him. "Yes, come with me!" He insists, "Aboard the Pearl. He'll never look for you there. He'll never find you."

She swallows a lump in her throat, her mind racing in a million different directions. His eyes are pleading with her. She nods shortly, frantically - and he smiles quickly before grabbing her hand and leading her through the caves and onto the path to his Pearl.

* * *

><p>When they stumble onto the ship, it's all heated sucking and heavy breathing. Her hands are behind his neck, pulling him closer to her even though the kisses are already bruising. His rough fingers are digging into the curve of her waist, pressing her arched body into his chest. They don't break apart for air because their lips are so frantic - they suck in enough air as they sloppily bring their lips together without coordination.<p>

Her teeth are grabbing at his tender skin, pulling and biting as he moans her name. His hands slip over her bottom before they're under her dress, sliding up the backs of her thighs and lifting her. He presses her back against the cabin wall, trapping her there with his hips. She wraps her smooth legs around him, adjusting herself and encircling his head with her arms. She has to lean down a bit to be level with him, so when he breaks their frenzied kisses he has no intention of ignoring the curved collarbones protruding right in front of his eyes.

Her lips part and she turns her neck to the side, panting heavily as his tongue samples the sweet skin exposed by her low-cut dress. He's sucking his way down the arch of her neck - she tastes like salt-water and rum, a combination that makes his head swirl and his tongue tingle. His hands grasp at her clothed chest mindlessly and her body hums in appreciation before she reaches down his back, fingers grasping at the bottom hem of his shirt. He leans back, lifting his arms as she pulls the cloth over his head. She throws the fabric to the ground and pushes at him so she can return to her feet. He backs up, setting her down and staring at her with dark, hungry eyes.

She smirks, stepping forward and tracing the outlines of his warm skin that vibrates under her touch. He groans, reaching forward to bring her face to his, sucking her lips into his mouth before poking his tongue in. She smiles against his eager lips and wraps her arms around his back, flattening her palms and sliding them down, down until she's playing with the fabric around his hips. His hands move down from her jaw, latching around her slim neck, and moving down her shoulders and arms before he grasps her hands in his, pulling back to breathe and untie the back of her dress.

It's sopping wet and he has to pull it down by the hem with a quick motion, the fabric wanting nothing more than to stick to her slick skin. On his knees, he stops to move his hands up her legs slowly, the pads of his fingers spreading and exploring. Her skin is like a warm porcelain, velvety to the touch. As he reaches her hips, he breaks his eyes away from the wondrous treasures in front of him up to her. She's smiling at him, her pretty eyes crinkling at the sides. He grins back, pushing himself closer to her as he reaches her hipbones and places his face against her stomach. He hums, placing a light kiss on her belly button before moving his hands up further, dancing around the curve of her waist. He stands with the movement, connecting his eyes with hers again.

"Have you done this before?" He breathes out in a soft tone, his lips playing with the shell of her ear.

"Does it matter?" She opens her eyes to look at him, her eyes vivid yet lethargic. His lips stop exploring, hands idle. "I mean, yes, thousands of times. With a vast variety of men. And women."

He pulls his head back, narrowing his eyes at her, and pursing his lips, "By the end of the night, that little mouth of yours will be closed."

She laughs loudly and he pushes her back onto the bed, his eyes showing nothing but amusement.

* * *

><p>When she awakes, she feels as if she's being rocked like a baby - back and forth, back and forth. There's a dim oil lamp in the corner of the room, and the rough blankets she's wrapped in smell like rum and salt-water. Jack isn't next to her, so she swings her bare legs over the ledge of the bunk before padding over to the window covered with a thick material to keep the light out. She peeks out of it, and sees nothing but the immensity of the ocean. Excitement bubbles in her veins, showing itself in the bounce of her step. She fumbles around for her dress, and finds it, dry, in the corner of the room.<p>

She doesn't hesitate as she turns the nob of his cabin door, and gleefully skips over to the ledge of the ship. Her mouth parts in astonishment, her eyes widening as she watches the waves flow with a gentle ease. The sun it setting, and reds and oranges are reflected in the lazy tides. She turns in a circle, ignoring the crew bustling around her, her eyes scanning the infinite ocean. The horizon is wrapped around them like a belt. She she cannot see a speck of land obscuring the view.

He leaves his spot at the helm when he sees her near the ledge, walking down the stairs and approaching behind her. Her long black hair is tangled and knotted, and he brushes his hand through it to signify his arrival. She turns to him, her eyes still uncomprehending. "There's no land."

"No, luv, there isn't." He replies, smiling. Her eyes brighten and she turns quickly to look back over the ledge at the sunset. She stares at it for a long moment as he continues to brush out her hair with his fingers. Finally, quickly, she turns back to him - her aqua eyes wide and sparkling like a child's.

"Do you think there's a place where the sky and the ocean meet?"

He looks down at her, a single eye-brow raised. He doesn't really understand the magnitude of his next words, "If you stick around long enough, I'll take you there."


End file.
